and not a soul about
by KuraGonzalez
Summary: "I don't want to pick a quarrel with you on the graveyard but this is my tomb." Another chuckle erupts and this time the guy can't stop himself from laughing out loud. How rude. This buffoon has no manners whatsoever. "Your tomb? Did you call dibs?"


Actually, I just wanted to prove to myself that I can still write one-shots under 2k. That tiny grave is real. I visited it until it was removed recently because no one renewed it and you have no idea how sad that made me. So yeah, have a little something on this sunny Sunday =)

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What the everloving fudge?

No. No, no, no. This is _his_ thing. For God knows how many years already. Every first Saturday of the month, at midnight, he comes here to visit this particular grave. It's _his_ bizarre tradition ever since he attended his mother's funeral and saw that lonely grave of a little child in the middle of nowhere.

No other gravesides are around it, just a huge patch of bright green grass, as if some curse lays upon this holy ground. There are never any flowers on the tiny grave – except for the ones he brings – and the only footprints in the sand leading to it are his own.

Back then, he couldn't believe that there was no one remembering this boy – a seven day old infant that at least already had a name – so he decided to do it. He puts tiny, unicolored flowers on the stone, so they won't look too out of place on this little grave. It's barely bigger than two shoe boxes and it breaks his heart anew every time he comes here.

The boy died thirty years ago and the stone doesn't let on why he only survived for a week, why he was ripped from this earth after such a horribly short amount of time but he kind of likes the mystery of it. Sure, he could go to the city archive and do what he does best: research. But he's always preferred to stay in the dark about it.

This is the place for him to find utter solitude, it's his safe haven where he can calm down and solve his problems and now a tall guy is approaching him, strolling through the graveyard as if he owns the place, looking like he belongs anywhere _but_ here.

And just like he feared, the stranger comes to a stop right in front of the boy's tombstone, bending down to look at the epigraph. 'Yours?' the other inquires with a deep, slightly raspy voice and Seth rolls his eyes. Yeah, thirty years ago he became the father of a child – while he himself wasn't even swimming around with all the other spermatozoa in his dad's testicles.

'What are you doing here?' he demands to know instead of letting out a snarky remark, not wanting to disturb the silence that surrounds this spot.

The intruder looks up at him, completely unperturbed by Seth's annoyance, asking once more, 'If he's not one of yours, why're you coming back here every four weeks like clockwork?' 'You've been following me?' he hisses, feeling violated and stalked, yet strangely flattered.

An amused chuckle fills the air; after a while it sounds downright mocking. 'Someone's got a high opinion of himself.' It's not an insult, the other's tone is way too gentle for that but Seth still thinks it is. Mostly because this guy won't leave him alone.

'I don't want to pick a quarrel with you on the graveyard but this is my tomb.' Another chuckle erupts and this time the guy can't stop himself from laughing out loud. How rude. This buffoon has no manners whatsoever. ' _Your_ tomb? Did you call dibs?'

'Don't be ridiculous,' he shoots back, his cheeks starting to burn because he feels humiliated by himself and the other alike. 'Says the one who claims the grave of a dead kid is his. It's a public cemetery, not an auction, baby.'

He sighs exasperated, feeling flustered and embarrassed at the same time. 'You're so weird,' he mumbles, not sure what else to add. Because the stranger is right. This isn't a family relative of his – he's never even went to see his own mom here, only ever visited the dead baby because he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that it was ripped from this world so soon, that it never had the chance to grow up and see how awesome life can be.

' _I'm_ weird? Buddy, I'm not the one creeping around on the graveyard at night, staring at a stone that has nothing to do with me.' Seth seriously hates it when people beat him with logic; he's the genius here, has a doctor's degree to prove it and yet he's acting so irrational right now because this man keeps on irritating him to a point it's not even funny anymore.

No one is supposed to be able to make Seth feel like he's a teenager again – clumsy, overlooked, inadequate. He's left that dark part of his past behind. How come this guy affects him so much? And why is he still here, speaking to that man when he could be at home with his fiancée?

'Then tell me, do you know him? Have you any right to stand at his grave?' Blue eyes stare right at him and into his soul and Seth's breath hitches in his throat. The other seems to be angry – no matter what he wanted to achieve with his question, it wasn't that – but curiously enough he doesn't let it out on Seth. He only shakes his head, running a hand gingerly over the imprinted name.

'I don't. But I've been growing up with him, told him every secret I had, considered him my best friend.' And he seriously called Seth the oddball? At least he only comes here once a month and he never talks, just stares at the beautiful name and weeps for the life that never had a chance to be.

'That's pretty sad,' he whispers, not wanting to say it's actually a tiny bit pathetic even though that was the comment on his tongue. Looking at the other's gloomy face though he didn't have the heart to beat the man round the head with the truth.

The guy shrugs, sitting down on the grass and Seth suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to follow suit. He's drawn to that charismatic stranger and somewhere deep inside there's a constant pull, the wish to listen to this rough yet warm voice for all eternity.

'Wasn't exactly a guy with many friends and he never talked back,' the other manages to turn this into a bittersweet joke and Seth's legs give out, forcing him to take a seat too. He's way more intrigued by this guy than he should be and he can already smell peril lingering in the air – his alarm bells shrill, telling him to leave right now or else he'll screw up everything he worked so hard for –, yet he stays where he is, losing himself in those endless, blue eyes.

'I stopped coming here when I realized I don't need this setting to tell him what happened. I think of him at least once a day, mostly at night while sipping my after-work beer and watching some pretend ninja creep around the cemetery, putting baby flowers on his grave.'

Seth tears his gaze away from the simple lettering, a shiver running down his spine. The guy observed him? 'Don't gimme that _you're a sick turd_ look, I live over there,' comes the instant reply and Seth follows the fingers pointing behind them, making out a dark house in the shadows across the cemetery gates.

'Moved back five years ago when I saw it was for sale. Since then I've watched you lurk around, mourning the death of my best friend.' 'And I thought I was nuts for coming here, considering him like a missing part of me that is lying down there in the ground,' he admits against his will, covering his mouth with a hand to stop himself from uttering even more nonsense.

The other's piercing stare doesn't bother him; to be honest, his heart beats even stronger and his stomach does a couple of somersaults. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he doesn't contain it, feeling as if he belongs right here, next to this guy and someone who died way too soon with the name Roman Reigns.

'It just clicked, didn't it?' his companion asks quietly, completely honest and without the teasing tone that's always accompanying the other's words – it shows Seth that the man doesn't see life as a challenge to prove himself but as a gift, something to be treasured and honored. He admires that attitude.

'Us three,' comes the not very detailed explanation but the other doesn't even need to reveal more. Seth can feel it run through his veins, this strange notion of home and safety, of family. 'Together we'd have conquered the world.'

It should sound stupid and he should answer something along the lines of _those are the words of a madman. I'm out_. Instead he simply nods, holding his hand out for the other to take. 'My name is Seth.'

The man smiles, wide and open, and all Seth can see are adorable dimples he'd like to kiss for the rest of his life. This guy is dangerous; he should leave and never come back, but for some reason Seth stays where he is, his whole body humming in approval when their skin connects and he hears an equally breathless, 'Dean.'

'You have another of those beers?' he grins, not recognizing himself at all, the existence of his girlfriend long forgotten. He's just found his soulmate, Seth can sense it in his very bones and he knows instinctively that he will never let the other – _Dean_ – out of his sight again.

He's finally found the peace he always searched here for.


End file.
